Lighting the Torch
by Enjolrock18
Summary: Joan Miller is a young woman, a college student at Columbia University in New York City during the early 1960's. But she's also part of a Civil Rights group who call themselves The Friends of the Abaissed, and it is with them that she will try and change the world. 60's AU, American AU, rated for some minor violence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I got the idea for this story when we watched a Civil Rights film in Social Studies, and I wondered to myself: _Hmm, what if the Amis were in the US in the sixties? _And thus, this story was born. I own nothing except for the plot, "_Civil Rights In America" _and my OC.**

_January 1__st__, 2010  
The set of the new film, "Civil Rights In America"_

"**Who was he to you?"**

"He was my hero. He was my leader, he was my friend."

_ A young man, golden curls matted with blood and dirt. He bleeds out of multiple wounds as he lies on the ground, growing weaker and weaker. A young woman, brown hair brushing her shoulders as she kneels beside him, tears in her green eyes threatening to spill down her dirty face._

_ He smiles, and she fumbles in her bag for something, anything, to help him. But he stays her hand. And slowly, slowly, he pulls her down and whispers something in her ear, something which causes the tears to burst forward in full force._

"He was an inspiration. He was untouchable. He was our little group's Martin Luther King."

_The young woman is openly sobbing now, her hands desperately trying to heal his wounds. He simply smiles slightly._

"And, you know, I do believe I was a little bit in love with him."

_47 years earlier  
New York City, near Columbia_

"Whoa there Joan, what's the matter?"

"Can't talk – already late!" Joan Roland called over her shoulder to her neighbor as she ran out the door of their apartment building. She was late, in fact, for the second time that week. The first time had been due to homework, but this time it was her family's fault. Or rather, her brother's fault.

Her brother, James, had shown up that morning to express his wishes for Joan to return to their home state of Missouri at the end of the school year.

"You haven't been home in ages, Jo," he had said to her, "I miss you, I really do."

She would have loved to explicitly state to his face why she had to stay in New York during the summer, but this _was _Missouri they were talking about. Her cause was just, but none of the people back home would agree with it.

But none of that mattered right now, because the leader of their little band of college kids was going to murder her if she was more than ten minutes late, which would be around the time that Grantaire got there. Grantaire's arrival was the cutoff – if you arrived after him, you were in for a very scary talking too.

The reasoning for this was that Grantaire was always drunk. He never did any other drugs, but he drank everywhere, and all of the time. He could still function, somewhat, but he could have been much better if he didn't drink.

Joan wasn't going to bother with a taxi; she had never had luck with flagging one, and even if she did it would take her longer to get to the meeting place. So, she elected to walk.

She managed to slip into the Musain seconds before Grantaire stumbled in, even more drunk than usual. The Musain was a little café from the early nineteen hundreds, when it had been opened by a Frenchman and his wife who immigrated to New York. During the twenties it had been a speakeasie, one of those illegal clubs serving alcohol during the prohibition. After the Prohibition had ended, the Musain retreated to become a small restaurant-slash-café, and the couple's daughter, Musichetta, had taken it over. Their little group had stumbled upon it and decided it was perfect.

Joan sat at a table next to her friend Courfeyrac, whose wavy dark hair seemed to be shorter than she remembered.

"Haircut, Courf?" she asked with a grin. Her dynamic friend nodded with a slight frown, touching his short locks.

"Yea, the Old Lady was really hacked about how long it was getting. Lucky you, not having to deal with an Old Lady or an Old Man."

"You forget – I have my big brother. He's basically my Old Man now."

"Your brother is square," Marius piped up as he moved to sit between them, before saying, "Has Enj told you yet?"

"Told us what?" Joan asked, glancing at Marius, who was wearing an outfit more pleasing to the eye than the monstrosity he had worn the day before. The redhead seemed pleased that he was aware of something before Joan, who was usually the first to know everything.

"Well, Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr..."

"You mean the African-American preacher that rose to the top of our activist 'ranks'?" Courfeyrac asked, and Marius nodded.

"He's organized a march on Washington this summer…"

Joan leapt to her feet, eyes glittering in excitement.

"Are we going?" she asked, and Marius grinned widely. She squealed and jumped up and down, short curls bouncing as they framed her face. Running over to Enjolras, the leader of their little group, she asked,

"Is it true?"

The blond looked up, confusion in his blue eyes.

"Is what true?"

"Are we going to the march?"

He nodded, before tensing up as she engulfed him a hug, beaming. This was what she dreamed of. This cause was everything to her, and she was so glad that she could finally meet one of the most famous men in the Civil Rights world. Enjolras managed to disentangle himself from Joan's hug and got her to sit back down, before the meeting began.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"Find out what?" Joan asked, managing to keep a straight face and steady tone despite the fear coiling in her chest, "James, I don't know what you're talking about?"

"How long did you think you could hide your little club from me?" her brother demanded, anger flaring in his grey eyes, "It's not right, this little goal of yours."

The fear washed over her. She had put her friends in danger, not cutting ties with him. But somehow, she managed to snort and ask incredulously, "Not right? How is it _not_ right?"

"They – those _Negros _– are a menace!" He spat out 'Negro' like it was a bad taste in his mouth. He was leaning closer to Joan, whose jaw was firmly set. He continued, shouting, "I won't have you cavorting with them or those who are near them!"

"I'm not a child anymore! I can do whatever the hell I want!" she yelled back.

Something – his hand – slapped her across the face, and she reeled, yet somehow remained standing. Now shock was filling her. Her _brother_ had hit her?

"You listen to me, Joan," James growled, his face dangerously close to hers, "They are beneath us."

"That's what all of the men said about women too, when they wanted rights," Joan shot back, "they weren't right."

"Maybe they were," he snarled, "If all of these rights we gifted to you make you think you can disobey your betters. We should never have given in." A split second passed, and then he added, "You belong in the kitchen."

Anger coloured Joan's vision blood red and she launched herself a him, screaming.

"Take that back! Take it back right now, you _bastard_!"

His hand collided with her face once more, and she fell back against the wall, blood welling from a split on her lip. Her head collided with the wall and he vision blackened for a split second, leaving her with a splitting headache. But the fire of her anger was not quenched, and she propped herself up, not finished.

"You think you're better than us, than them," she spat, "But _you're _the lowly ones. Here you are, preaching about how much better you are, when, in reality, _you_ are the lowest _dregs_ of humanity!"

He struck her again, and then his fist hit her, causing more pain to explode behind her eyes.

"You are a _child_!" James yelled, "A child, and a woman! You know _nothing_ of the world!"

"I know more than you," she began, but he cut her off with another strike.

"You will come back with me to Missouri," he said, panting, and Joan laughed through the blood flowing from numerous cuts on her face.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with you."

"I am your brother, and you will listen to me!"

"I have grown up, James! I will _not_ come with you. I have found a new family."

James snarled and shoved her back against the wall, her head colliding again.

"I'm giving you ten minutes to pack up and get out, _bitch_," he growled, "You can find somewhere else to live. And forget about your precious Columbia. I'm not paying for you anymore."

She spat in his face and kneed him below the belt before storming into her room and stuffing things into her suitcases, also grabbing canned foods from the kitchen. As she walked past James to leave, she said, "Change is coming, James. I'll be glad to see the look on your face when this whole thing is over, and you have lost. Also," she laughed, "You forget that Mama and Papa left me half of their fortune. So I will be continuing in college."

With that she left, slamming the door behind her. She headed back to the café, knowing that almost everyone would still be there.

Halfway on the way, tears began to prick in her eyes. By the time she stumbled into the café, she was sobbing.

"Joan?" Jehan asked, standing up in worry, "Are you alright? What happened?" He sat her down at a table.

"I did it, Jehan," Joan said, the tears slowly coming to a stop, "I left my bastard of a brother. He found out about our Cause, and tried to disown me." She laughed, adding, "He forgot that _I'm_ the heir to our parent's fortune, and I have half of it waiting in my bank account for use."

"Joan, are you okay?" Enjolras appeared in her vision, which was quickly narrowing, "Did he beat you?"

"He insulted the cause," she said, a faint grin showing on her face, "I got a good hit in."

"Joan, listen to me. Focus on my face." His hands were on hers, and she focused her blurry vision on his statuesque face.

"Does your head hurt? Do you feel sick?"

"A little bit, yea," she said.

Jehan wrung his hands, asking, "Is she going to be…"

"I'm not a doctor, Jean! Fetch Joly if you want to know how bad she is!"

Jehan ran off in search of their doctor friend. Her vision was fading out.

"Eyes on me, Joan," Enjolras said, "You have to stay awake, hear me?" There was a note of desperateness in his voice.

"But I'm so sleepy…" she muttered, and he shook his head.

"If you fall asleep now, you'll miss Martin Luther King."

That was the key to get her to focus all of her will on staying awake. Joly knelt in front of her, blurred by her half closed eyes. His fingers danced across her face, examining her.

"She's got minor concussion," he said, "She should be fine." He turned to her and said, gently, "Rest, Joan."

She closed her eyes, and slept.

The guys breathed a sigh of relief as Joan's eyes closed and her breathing deepened. Her delicate face was marred by scratches and her lip was starting to swell. There was a gash on her forehead.

"Who did this to her?" Joly asked, brow furrowed in concern.

"Her brother," Enjolras scowled, "Before he left her to the streets."

Joly frowned and said, "We can deal with him later. Someone should keep an eye on her while she sleeps."

"We could take shifts," Jehan suggested, but Enjolras shook his head, cutting him off.

"No. I'll watch her."

"You need to sleep too…"

"No."

"But…"

"I said _no_, Jehan!"

The poet jumped and Joan murmured in her sleep, moving around in the chair. Enjolras sighed as he looked at her and said,

"It's my fault she's like this."

Joly shook his head, replying, "Not it isn't, Enjolras."

"It _is_!" The blonde insisted, "We should have gotten her away from him a long time ago."

"She's away from him now," Combeferre said, placing a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, "But she'd be more comfortable somewhere that isn't a chair."

"She can stay at my place for now," Enjolras said, and Joly nodded in approval.

"Call me if there's any change."

Joan opened her eyes and squinted against the bright light that was flooding the room. She attempted to sit up, but whimpered slightly when pain shot through her head and neck, and decided against moving too much. Looking around, she noticed a neat apartment with white walls and tan carpet. She was lying on a rather comfortable couch, near which there were windows that looked out over the city.

"Joan? Are you awake?"

For a moment she panicked, not fully recognizing the voice and thinking for a moment that it was her brother. But then a familiar face appeared, golden hair out of its normal ponytail and instead hanging around his face. Light shone behind his head, encasing him in a golden light.

Enjolras.

"Yea," she answered, "What happened last night?"

He knelt down beside her, face darkening as he scowled.

"That damned brother of yours beat you and disowned you."

Shock spilled into her. Is that what had happened? It was a blur of pain and anger, mixed with tears.

"He- he did?"

Enjolras nodded and hung his head, whispering, "I'm sorry."

A sob burst from Joan's chest. Her brother had abandoned her. He had promised that he would take care of her, and then he abandoned her. Tears ran down her face and she sat up, ignoring the blood rush to her head, and hugged her legs close, letting the tears wet her knees.

Strong, yet gentle arms wrapped around her, and she allowed herself to be pulled into a hug.

"He used to be s-so kind," she sobbed into Enjolras' shoulder, "I don't know what happened to him."

She was turned so that she looked into Enjolras' eyes, startling blue meeting grey-green. He reached up and brushed tears from her eyes, looking at her with gentle sincerity as he said,

"People change, Jo."

"That much?" she asked, "Enjolras, what am I going to do?"

"You can stay here for now," he said, "After that, I don't know. We'll find you a job; I'm sure Musichetta can get you a position at the café. You'll make it through, Joan. I promise."

She smiled through her tears, and he slowly helped her to the table, where she sat as he made her breakfast.

"Thank you, Enjolras," she said, and he looked at her over his shoulder.

"It's my fault you were hurt," he said, "It was the least I could do."

**A/N: And there's the end of chapter one! Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review, and tell me how you feel. Or just rant. Or tell me your favorite Barricade Boy.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, here's chapter two of Lighting the Torch! I don't own Les Mis. In fact, anything you recognize probably does not belong to me. Except the Apple Juice. That is mine.**

**Last chapter: Joan is nearly late for a meeting, her brother does not approve of Civil Rights, and she gets disowned. Also her brother beats her and she ends up at Enj's apartment.**

"Enjolras?" Joan asked, looking down and realizing that she was, in fact, not wearing the clothes that had been on her the day before, "How did my clothes get changed?"

"It wasn't him, if that's what you're wondering," Grantaire said, coming from the hallway that branched off of the living area, "You know that girl that follows Marius around?"

"Éponine?" Joan asked. She had met the young woman a few times. She seemed nice enough, though she dressed like a greaser and was normally very quiet - until you got her started on her parents, who were cons.

"She's the one," Grantaire confirmed, "We ran into her when we were bringing you here – she offered to change you into those pajamas you're wearing – which are mine, by the way, I'd like them back – and then left right after. She wouldn't accept any compensation for her help, saying that 'she knew how it felt' and that she didn't need to be paid for doing the right thing." Grantaire suddenly turned to Enjolras and said, "Enjy, can I _please_ have wine?"

"For the last time, Grantaire, my name is not 'Enjy'," the blond said, "And no, you may not. It is _far_ too early to be drinking alcoholic beverages." He opened the fridge and grabbed a plastic bottle out, tossing it to the dark haired cynic, adding, "Here you go. You may have that instead."

Grantaire read the label, wrinkling his nose as he asked, "Apple Juice? Apple Juice is a thing?"

"I'm assuming you've never had it," Enjolras said drily. Joan had to stop herself from giggling as Enjolras' expression turned to one of exasperation as Grantaire took the top off of the apple juice and took a swig of it.

"Not bad," he announced, "Not quite like wine, but a good drink nonetheless."

He moved to the couch and collapsed onto it, gazing out of the window. Enjolras placed a plate of pancakes in front of Joan, who whispered, "Another ploy to keep him sober?"

"One I hope will work," he confirmed with a grin.

"He seems to like it," Joan said, watching Grantaire drain the jug of apple juice.

"I won't have to pay a fortune in alcohol," Enjolras said, and Joan grinned.

"But you will have to pay one in apple juice."

"I can hear you talking about me," Grantaire called, "Eat your breakfast, lovebirds."

"Not going to happen!" They both replied, after they looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Grantaire kept trying to get Enjolras to date someone, but everyone knew it wasn't going to happen, Joan most of all. They had gone to a dance together, as friends, and had spent most of the night planning a speech, not dancing or doing anything one normally did at dances.

Speaking of which…

"Don't I have a speech today?" Joan asked, sitting up abruptly, "How am I supposed to give it?"

"Relax, Joan," Grantaire said, coming back over to throw out the now-empty apple juice bottle, "We cancelled the meeting. It's not as if anyone would have been able to focus. They all want to kill your brother." He held up the bottle. "Do we have any more of this?"

Enjolras sighed and grabbed a smaller bottle, saying, "That's all we have, 'Taire. If you want more, you'll have to go out and get it yourself."

Grantaire frowned, but took the smaller bottle from Enjolras and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Don't forget to give me my pajamas back."

Joan chuckled, replying, "I won't."

The door to his bedroom shut and Enjolras sat down across from her as she began to eat her pancakes.

"Wow, man," she said after swallowing, "These are really tasty!"

"Thanks," he replied, "They're a family recipe."

"Liar!" Grantaire's voice came from his room, "That's the Bisquick recipe!"

"Still better than mine," Joan muttered with a grin, going back to eating. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Enjolras stood up.

"I got it!" he called, rushing over to the door and opening it.

"Hey, can I come in?"

Enjolras blinked in surprise and Joan raised her eyebrows, knowing she had heard the voice before but not able to figure out who it belonged too. The blond man was silent for a minute, but finally managed to say,

"Yea, uh… sure."

He opened the door wider and Éponine Thénardier walked in, dark brown hair hanging around her shoulders, which were clothed in a black leather jacket. Dark blue jeans were tucked into black heeled boots, and a tie-dyed backpack was slung over her shoulder. Enjolras closed the door behind her, looked down at his white t-shirt and flannel pants, muttered, "I'll be right back" and practically sprinted down the hallway to his room.

Éponine chuckled and walked over to the table, dropping her backpack on the ground and taking a seat next to Joan. She sent a longing glance at Joan's pancakes, and Joan reached across the table, grabbing a pancake with Enjolras' (unused) fork and placing it on the plate in front of Éponine.

"You feeling better?" Éponine asked, cutting off a piece of the pancake.

"Yea," Joan said, "Thanks for helping me."

"Like I told the guys," Éponine replied, "It was no problem. I know what it's like, to uh…" she trailed off, and Joan nodded, patting her shoulder.

"Still, thanks."

Enjolras reappeared, dressed in a red plaid shirt and blue jeans, looked at his plate, and asked, "Where'd my fork go?"

Éponine held it out with a coy smile and a "You can have it back, if you want."

"No, no thank you," he said, "I'll go get another one." He opened a drawer and pulled out a fork, yelling, "Grantaire! 'Ponine's here!"

There was no reply from the other man. Enjolras sent a longing look at his pancakes, sighed, and dashed back off down the hallway. Éponine snorted and Joan held back a laugh.

"I brought you clothes," Éponine said around a bite of pancake, "That's why I'm here." She leaned over, fork still in her mouth, and fished around in her backpack. When she sat back up, she was holding a pair of dark jeans and a tie-dye t-shirt. Joan raised her eyebrows; she didn't own those clothes, and Éponine didn't seem like the kind of person to have a tie-dye t-shirt.

"Gavroche gave it to me for my birthday," Éponine explained, "I haven't really worn it. I figured I'd give it to you."

"Thanks," Joan said, taking the bundle of clothes. Éponine ran a hand through her hair and asked, "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"Enj offered me a room," Joan said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Éponine snorted slightly, saying, "You're going to stay with guys?"

Joan scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion as Éponine gave her a look. The silence was broken by the reappearance of Enjolras, Grantaire in tow, holding the now-empty apple juice bottle.

"Get yourself more juice," Enjolras said, "Take a cab, or the bus, and get eggs while you're at it. Here;" he shoved a few bills into Grantaire's hand, "That should cover it."

"Hi 'Ponine!" Grantaire managed to call before he was pushed out of the apartment and the door was shut behind him. Enjolras looked slightly relieved as he leaned against the door, stopping Grantaire from getting back in.

"So, Éponine," Enjolras asked, "Why are you here?"

Éponine froze in the middle of taking a bite and set her fork down, looking up at him.

"Well," she said, "I was checking up on Joan, and also, I have a proposition for her."

Joan looked up from her plate, swallowed, and said, "Yea? What is it?"

"Well," said Éponine, "You don't have a place to stay, do you?"

"She can stay here," Enjolras interjected, but Éponine shook her head.

"People will, well... assume things," she pointed out, and Joan blushed.

"But…" she coughed, "That's… ridiculous!"

"I know," Éponine said, "But I need a roommate, and you're available."

Joan blinked at how forthright the brunette was, and nodded. She supposed she should room with a girl, and she didn't exactly know many women.

"Yea," she said, "I guess that's a good idea."

"Great!" Éponine said, "Finish your breakfast, get dressed, and we'll go check it out!"

"Hey, 'Ponine, who's this hottie you've got with you?"

An arm slunk around Joan's waist, pulling her close to a man whose breath smelled of alcohol and who towered over her petite frame. Joan let out a "Hey!" and tried to tug herself away from the man. Éponine turned and glared at him.

"C'mon, 'Parnasse," she said, "Get away from her."

"Why should I?" the man asked, and Joan stiffened. "She's sexy."

"Montparnasse," Éponine said, a warning tone in her voice, "let her go."

His voice dropped in pitch and raised in volume as he said, "You think I don't know what happened? We saw you going into their little apartment. Don't think we don't know you've been hanging around that Enjolras guy. Got the hots for him, Éponine?"

"Really, Montparnasse?" Éponine asked, "It doesn't concern you! We are no longer in a relationship!"

"So I don't see the problem with taking this little beauty home with me," he said, leaning over to whisper into Joan's ear, "Would you like that, pet? I promise it will be fun…"

"Let her go!" Éponine yelled, "For God's sake, Montparnasse, didn't you see her being brought into Enjolras' apartment? There's a _reason_ she was brought there."

"What are you trying to say?" Montparnasse asked.

"How thick are you?" Éponine asked, "She and Enjolras are going steady."

The arm released Joan so fast that she practically flew towards Éponine, who caught her as Montparnasse slinked away.

"Ex-boyfriend?" Joan asked, and Éponine nodded.

"Part of my father's gang. I helped them out for a while, but they were all jerks."

"You do know I'm not dating Enjolras, right?" Joan asked, making sure that Éponine understood.

"Of course I do," she replied, "But 'Parnasse has kept 'an eye' on me long enough where he knows how protective Enjolras is. He only has to think that you're dating Enjolras, because he'll leave you alone for fear that Enjolras will kick his ass if he touches you."

"Which is true," Joan chuckled, "Though not because we're dating."

"Sorry you had to deal with him," Éponine said, "I didn't think he'd be around this area."

"It's fine," Joan flapped her hand, "You did well, 'Ponine. You're very smart."

"Thank you," she replied, "We're nearly there."

They approached a nice looking brownstone, and Éponine smiled.

"I know the landlady," she explained, "helped her out a few times. She's said that we can stay here for less than her other tenants."

She stepped up and rang the doorbell, and the door was opened by a black woman in her mid-sixties, with slightly greying hair and kind eyes.

"Éponine!" the woman exclaimed, embracing the dark haired girl, "How you been?"

"Good, Miggie," Éponine said, "What about you? Have the neighbors been treating you well?"

"They been pretty good to me," Miggie answered, "But who's this with you? Ain't seen her 'round here before."

"She's a student," Éponine said, "Joan Miller. Joan, this is Miggie Williams, the landlady."

Joan smiled at the woman.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," she said, holding out her hand.

"Aren't you a polite little thing?" Miggie asked, beaming and taking Joan's hand, "I suppose you're one of Éponine's activist friends?"

"Um… yea," Joan replied, "Just need a new place to live. Éponine suggested we room together."

"Come in, come in!" Miggie said, "I'll show you around."

The apartment was nice. It wasn't too big or too small, and it was neat. There was only one bedroom, but it had two twin sized beds in it. There was a kitchenette and a small bathroom attached to the bedroom, and Miggie looked a bit nervous as she showed them about.

"You like it, miss?" she asked, as Joan looked around at the small space. Taking a deep breath, a smile broke out over Joan's features.

"It's perfect," she said, "How much?"

"800 dollars a month," Miggie said, "Split, that's 400 each."

"Can you pay that, Éponine?" Joan asked, "I can take care of food and stuff."

"400 dollars is fine, Miggie," Éponine replied, patting the woman's shoulder, "We'll take it."

**And that's the chapter. Now for the review response (because only one person reviewed):**

**Ilikenuts: No, it's not weird that you were watching hockey when you started reading this. And thanks, I'm glad you like it. I am working on it. I was actually watching The Help in school when I started this, so little references will probably pop up here and there. Along with other references.**

**To everyone: Let's see if you can spot the Sherlock reference! Those who do get a free internet hug. In fact, you get a free internet hug if you review at all.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again, I don't own anything except for Miggie and Joan.**

"Are you coming to the meeting today, Éponine?" Joan asked, sitting at their kitchen table as they ate lunch. They had moved into the apartment the day before, and Miggie had been nothing but kind to Joan. She had even offered to lend the use of her apartment downstairs, should they have company over.

"I don't know," Éponine replied, "Are you?"

"I think I will," Joan said, "A few bruises and a minor concussion isn't worth missing one of Enjolras' speeches."

"Maybe I will," Éponine said, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"We'll be glad to have you, 'Ponine," Joan replied, "We need more members – not enough of New York City is with us on this. We'll never be able to do it without more support."

"Maybe you could give your speeches somewhere more public," she suggested, and Joan furrowed her brow.

"Like where?"

Éponine shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What about at the college? There's lots of people who live on campus, yea? If you spoke there, you'd get lots of people listening. And you and Enjolras – you're amazing speakers. Plenty of people would join up, probably after just one round of you two."

Joan's jaw dropped, and she stared at the brunette with undisguised surprise. How had she managed to come up with such an amazing idea? Éponine shrugged again and went back to eating her sandwich, while Joan struggled for words.

"Ép… that's – that's brilliant! Wow!"

Éponine looked up sharply, surprise flitting across her face. "Brilliant?" she asked, and then "No, no, I'm not brilliant…"

"Brilliant," Joan insisted, "You are brilliant. That is an amazing idea. In fact, I'm taking you to the meeting and you can tell Enjolras yourself."

Éponine blushed and protested, "No, really, it's fine…"

"Éponine," Joan said sharply, taking the girl's hand, "Look at me."

Éponine did, and was surprised by the fire in Joan's eyes.

"All of your life, people will tell you that you aren't good enough, and they won't recognize the good that you do. Don't brush off praise."

She nodded, and Joan grinned. "Good. Now, since you're so brilliant, why haven't you gone to college?"

"Well," she said, "Money was an issue…"

"It's not anymore," Joan said, "My tuition is, like, half of what it would normally be because of my scholarship. If you want, I can pay for you…"

"No," Éponine cut in, "You don't have to do that."

"What if I want to?" Joan shot back, "What if I want to give you this opportunity?"

"I don't even know what I'd go to school _for_!" she protested.

"Then think about it," Joan replied. "I can get you a list of available majors, and when you've decided, I'll pay for you."

Éponine went to protest more, but decided against it. Even though she hadn't known Joan very long, she did know that the dark haired girl was stubborn and very compassionate. If she wanted to pay for Éponine to attend college, she was going to, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Finally, she managed out a "Thank you," which Joan accepted with a nod before turning back to eating.

101

"Enjolras!" Joan called as she and Éponine entered the Musain, "We have news – good news!"

Enjolras looked up, looking as if he would reply, but Joan was swamped by her concerned friends, including Feuilly, who pulled her into a tight hug and peppered her with questions about her health.

"Dudes," she laughed, "calm down. I'm fine."

"You look like shit," Courfeyrac pointed out, "We're going to kill your brother if he shows so much as a hair in here."

The rest of her friends nodded in agreement, and she grinned, shaking her head. "He's gone for good, guys."

"Hey!" Marius piped up from near the back of the group, his freckled face poking up over Combeferre's shoulder, "Isn't it your and Enjolras' birthday today? Your 21st?"

Joan furrowed her brow in concentration. "I think… yea, it is!"

"We're taking you to a bar!" Bahorel exclaimed, "You are of legal age to drink, and thus you will be given drinks payed for by us!"

"Oh, that's not necessary," she and Enjolras protested at the same time, causing Éponine to chuckle from behind her.

"Oh, come on, Enjolras," Grantaire said, clasping a hand on the blond's shoulder and pouting slightly, "Just this once?"

"I'll come along," Éponine muttered to Joan, "If you don't want to be the only girl among boys."

"Oh, well…" Joan said, before sighing and lowering her head. "I guess I'll come. But!" she interrupted the cheering with a raise of her hand, "_Only_ if Enjolras does."

The group turned, almost as one, to face their blond leader and began to beg for him to come, pulling their best puppy dog faces. Even Éponine joined in, and finally, the blond sighed, pushing a strand of hair back from his face.

"Fine."

This time, everybody cheered, Bahorel and Grantaire attempting to high five each other(which didn't work very well, considering Grantaire was drunk and just nearly hit Bahorel in the face instead) while Courfeyrac grinned, obviously pleased that he had gotten Enjolras to agree to do something _fun_ for a change.

"Please don't let me do anything stupid if I get drunk," Joan asked Éponine, "I'll never live it down."

"I'll try my best," she replied, "although if you're half as stubborn drunk as you are sober, that may be a problem."

"Come on," Joan said to her, grabbing her arm now that her friends had dissipated, "You get to finally tell Enjolras your brilliant plan. Enjolras!" she raised her voice to grab his attention, "Éponine came up with something absolutely brilliant."

She dragged the brunette over, and had her tell Enjolras her idea. The blond's eyes were sparkling with passion by the time she had finished, and he stood on the table and outlined the plan to the whole café, before mentioning that it was Éponine who had come up with it. By the time he came down, he was giving Éponine a look of immense pride, a smile on his lips.

Combeferre grinned, grabbed Éponine by the arms, and kissed her quickly on the lips, explaining afterward, "That look is Enjolras' way of saying 'I feel like kissing you for your wonderful contribution to social justice', but let's face it, he doesn't kiss anyone, so I kissed you for him."

Éponine blushed bright red as the fair haired man went back to his table, grinning widely.

"Éponine," Enjolras said, raising his voice, "I would like to take this moment to formally make you a part of our organization."

"Oh, that's not necessary," Éponine began, but Enjolras held up a hand.

"You've been a great help, and you should be officially a part of the group."

"I'm not even a _student_," she protested.

"Neither am I," Feuilly spoke up from the table he shared with Jehan, and it was true, Feuilly was the son of Polish immigrants who had died as they had lived – poor as dirt. As such, he worked for a living.

"But…" Éponine tried to protest again, and Joan grinned.

"Let it happen, 'Ponine."

"…alright."

They went through the motions, Enjolras explaining why Éponine had proved herself worthy to join, and asking if anyone objected to her joining _Les Amis_(to which Éponine quietly questioned why they had a French name. Joan shrugged, because she wasn't quite sure, to be honest). When no one did, he pinned a tricolor badge to her jacket and pronounced her an official member.

The rest of the meeting was a rush of speech writing and planning the date of their speech-giving at the college. Grantaire was given the job of getting flyers printed and giving them to Jehan and Joly, who would hang them up around the city. Éponine and Courfeyrac were in charge of getting an ad in the school newsletter, while everyone else would spread the word by mouth.

By the end of the meeting, Enjolras was breathless from near-constant order giving, and Joan was beaming at everyone who came to talk to her. They had convinced Grantaire to stop drinking("At least until we get to the bar), and Éponine was completely out of ideas. If she hadn't run out, they probably would have kept the meeting going, but no one else could come up with anything either, and so Enjolras ended the meeting and everyone dragged him and Joan to the nearest bar.

The bar was brightly lit and already loud – it was seven pm – and they were given two tables that had been pushed together. Enjolras was seated at the head of the table, with Joan on his right, and the first thing that was ordered (for them, much to their chagrin) was two beers. They were placed in front of Joan and Enjolras while the rest of their friends ordered their respective drinks(except for Joly, who denied an alcoholic beverage and decided to get a soda pop instead, saying that _someone_ had to keep them all in line)

Three glasses of beer in, Joan's head was a little bit fuzzy, and Enjolras was completely drunk. He got up to go to the bathroom and ran into Combeferre's chair, at which point he spent the next ten minutes apologizing profusely("I'm sorry. You sure it's okay? Are you alright? Oh God I'm so sorry" over and over.). When he was in the bathroom, they ordered Joan another drink, which she downed relatively quickly.

"This," she slurred, holding up the glass of beer, "I like this."

"Hey, Joan!" Courfeyrac yelled, pointing to a corner of the bar, "Piano!"

Her eyes widened and she stood, tripping over Éponine's chair and falling face first to the floor, laughing as she stood back up.

"I'm takin' requests," she said, and Grantaire raised his wine glass with a loud, "_Vive la Compagnie_!"

The rest of the bar – mostly college students, it seemed – heard the request and roared their approval. With a giggle, Joan stumbled over to the piano and plopped herself down, finding the proper keys beneath her fingers and beginning to play and sing just as Enjolras exited the bathroom.

_"Let ev'ry good fellow now fill up his glass  
Vive la… Enjolras!  
And drink to the health of our glorious class  
Vive la Enjolras!"_

Grantaire raised his glass to Enjolras, and the rest of the bar followed, making the blond nod as he sat down.

_"Vive la, vive la, vive l'Amour  
Vive la, vive la, vive l'Amour  
Vive l'Amour, vive l'Amour  
Vive la Enjolras!"_

Everyone cheered in response, as Courfeyrac yelled, "A toast to Marius!"

_"Now let ev'ry married man drink to his wife  
Vive la Marius!  
The joy of his bosom and plague of his life!  
Vive la Marius!"_

Marius blushed as everyone raised their glasses to him, shouting his name. Grantaire was chuckling from his chair.

_"Vive la, vive la,vive l'Amour!  
Vive la, vive la, vive l'Amour!  
Vive l'Amour, vive l'Amour,  
Vive la Marius!"_

She hiccupped and missed a few notes in the intro, before beginning,

_"Since all with good humor I've toasted so free,  
Vive la Grantaire!  
I hope it would please you to drink now with me  
Vive la Grantaire!"_

Grantaire laughed and raised his glass with a wink, and everyone followed, a few shouting,

"You missed a verse!"

"Eh, Enj!" Grantaire yelled, pushing the blond over, "Go on, sing the last verse!"

Enjolras hiccupped and blushed slightly. "Nah, I dunno, man…"

The Amis started the chant first, though it quickly spread through most of the patrons seated in the general area:

_"Enjolras! Enjolras!"_

"O-Okay," he slurred, stumbling over to the piano and clearing his throat, "I'll sing, if that's what you want."

The bar cheered again, and as Joan played through the intro, Enjolras began to sing.

_"Come fill up your glasses, I'll give you a toast  
Vive la Cherie Joan!  
Good health to our dear friend, our kind worthy host  
Vive la Cherie Joan!"_

She joined him for the chorus, managing, even in her drunken state, to harmonize (though it wasn't especially good)

_"Vive la, Vive la, Vive l'Amour  
Vive la, Vive la, Vive l'Amour  
Vive l'Amour, Vive l'Amour,  
Vive la Cherie Joan!"_

Everyone applauded, and Joan and Enjolras stumbled back to their table. The rest of the night was spent getting steadily more drunk, before Joly got everyone safely home. Once back to their apartment, Joan collapsed into bed and slept until nine o'clock the next morning, at which point she woke up with a pounding headache. The rest of that day – one that was, thankfully, without classes – was spent being tended to by Miggie, who scolded them lightly for getting so drunk, and ended her rant with a declaration of

"And I assume you won't be drinking like that again, eh missies?"

"No," Joan groaned in reply, "I am never touching alcohol again. _Ever_."

**There should be less time between the update of the next chapter, considering I finished two more when I had no wifi. Also, I don't own the song that Joan and Enjolras sing. It's called "Vive l'Amour(Vive la Compagnie)" and is an American folk song.**


	4. Chapter 4

The weeks before their gathering at Columbia passed in a blur of speech writing and preparation for Enjolras and Joan, and getting the word out for everyone else. Every class that Joan shared with Enjolras – which weren't many, considering that their majors were _vastly_ different (but Joan did enjoy history, as did Enjolras, and they shared that class) – was spent passing notes to each other, comparing their speeches and giving each other ideas for how to phrase an idea they wanted to present. Enjolras' hands were constantly stained with red ink from his old fashioned dip pen that he was so fond of, and Joan found herself writing down ideas on whatever medium she could get her hands on – including the arms of her friends.

Éponine seemed to be happier than before, and healthier, slowly gaining weight. It was after a week or so that Joan realized just _how_ pretty Éponine was when she was cleaned up and wearing more feminine clothing – with the richer foods that Joan was buying for her at the restaurants they ate at together, her hair had a shine to it, and she had more energy. One day, Joan took Éponine to go buy some new clothes, when they ran into Gavroche, Éponine's little brother who had taken to living on the streets and sneaking into the meetings of _Les Amis_. With a little bit of convincing, they managed to get him to return to their apartment for dinner, which Joan helped Miggie to make.

Gavroche, during their meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, mentioned that he had never had such good food before, what with living out on the streets and all, and Miggie (who was, quite frankly, horrified that no one took care of this adorable blond boy) all but forced him to live with her, under the reasoning that his sister lived there too, so it wasn't like she was _adopting _him, she was just more of a nanny than anything else. At first, the young boy was jumpy, but after a week he started to settle down, and it was then that Joan and Éponine invited all of _Les Amis _(minus Joly, who had checked himself into the hospital with the fear that he had influenza, and Feuilly, who's turn it had been to return him home) over for dinner.

Courfeyrac brought Monopoly with him and spent the hour before dinner teaching Gavroche how to play while Joan prepared dessert and helped Miggie with dinner. When Grantaire snuck into the kitchen to search for alcohol, he received a lecture from the landlady about how alcohol was bad for him before she shooed him out. Later, Enjolras attempted to walk in and ask Joan something, but ran out within seconds when he got biscuit batter flung at him (Joan did this while yelling about how he would ruin the surprise. To say he was confused would be an understatement.)

All in all, the arrangement worked out well, and soon enough it was the morning of their gathering, and Éponine was beaming as she woke Joan up from a deep sleep.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" Éponine exclaimed, with _far _more cheer than she usually possessed in the mornings.

"Have you been drinking coffee?" Joan wondered as she rubbed at her eyes. Éponine simply grinned wider as a high pitched voice pierced the air.

"But Miggie, I don't wanna!"

"Gavroche, you _will _take a bath!"

Another protest from the twelve year old was cut off by shouts of "Ow! Ouch! Ow!" as Miggie dragged him up the stairs, a firm grip on his arm.

"Éponine," she exclaimed, "If you could _please_ get your brother to take a bath…"

"Come now, Gavroche," Éponine said with suppressed laughter, "You want to be like Enjolras, don't you?"

All three of them knew that Enjolras was Gavroche's hero, and bringing up the young man's name was a sure way to get the boy to do anything, usually.

"No one makes Enjolras take baths!" Gavroche protested, and Joan sat up.

"You know, Gav, if you washed your hair, you'd look a lot like Enjolras."

"Really?" he asked, face brightening, and Joan nodded.

"Really."

"Okay," he conceded, "I'll take a bath. But only" –this was directed at Miggie – "Because of Enjolras."

"Mm-hmm," Miggie said, dragging him back downstairs. A minute later, the water started running, and Joan and Éponine grinned at each other.

"There's tea waiting for you downstairs," Éponine told Joan, "If you want, I'll reheat it after you shower."

"Could you?" she asked, and Éponine nodded. "Thanks," Joan said, and the brunette grinned in reply.

"You're welcome."

Joan took a short bath and dressed in a pair of pants and a long shirt under a jacket 'Ponine had lent her ages before. Despite the fact that Northerners were more open to the idea of racial equality, there was still the fact that the law stated that white and black people had to be separate in public places. And, if the school considered their gathering a security risk(or if they were against it in general), they might be attacked by the police or the campus security, hence why she was wearing pants.

Éponine was waiting with eggs and bacon for her to eat, and Gavroche was already digging into a bowl of cereal, looking slightly dejected. As Joan sat next to him, she asked what was wrong.

"'Ponine and Miggie won't let me have coffee," he complained, and Joan patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"You know, Enjolras doesn't drink coffee. If anything, he'll drink tea."

"Can I have tea, Miggie?" Gavroche asked, perking up slightly.

"How 'bout you try a sip of mine first," Joan offered, "And if you like it we can get you some."

It turned out that Gavroche did _not_ like tea, and decided that he would stick with milk and water. Éponine dragged Joan out the door and hailed a cab, which took them to Columbia. At the gathering area, there was already a large crowd forming as they joined the other _Amis_ behind the stage area.

"You ready, Enjolras?" Joan asked, and he nodded.

"Of course. You?"

"Couldn't be more prepared," she laughed, adding, "Get those ink stains off?"

"No," he answered, showing her his still ink-stained hands, "I'm thinking about incorporating them into the speech. The blood of all men is red, and all."

"My singing instructor would be overjoyed if I told him about that metaphor," she said with a smile.

"They're going to love you," Enjolras predicted, "How could they not?"

"They'll love you more," Joan insisted, "If Grantaire gets his way, the whole world will know you as Apollo."

"God forbid!" he muttered, and then they both laughed. She looked down at her watch and noticed that there were five minutes before they were due to start.

"Five minutes to go," she supplied, "Best of luck."

"You'll be great," he assured her, before turning to face the rest of their friends as he went over their plan one last time, before heading onstage, Joan right behind him.

"Friends!" he said into the microphone, and the assembled students began to quiet down, "Fellow students! I am incredibly happy that you have come here today to listen to our speeches. We are from a group of young men and women, just like all of you – mostly students who attend this college, but also a workingman and a young woman who wasn't given the chance to advance her learning by going on to learn at Columbia. My name is Enjolras," he smiled, pausing a moment as the crowd let out a mix of greetings, "And this is my good friend Joan."

"Now, I'm sure most of you know what these speeches are going to be about – but considering one of our members is near-constantly drunk, he may have left out some of the information. We are here to inform you about a problem in this great nation, a problem that has been going on for many years – we fought a war over it, my friends, a long and arduous war that pitted brother against brother and ended in the death of a great man and great president. This is about equality, friends, equality between all people – white people and people of color, women and men, _all _people will be equal. We knew that one day this would be true, that one day all humans could stand in the sun on equal ground as brothers and sisters, as friends, without something as silly as appearance to distract us from what truly matters – our talents, our words, and, most importantly, our hearts."

Joan noticed that there were a few cameras – could they be _news crews_? – near the back of the crowd, filming their speeches. She cleared her throat quietly and tilted her head towards them as Enjolras paused for breath, glancing at her. He nodded, showing that he had noticed them too. It seemed like Éponine's idea was better than anyone had realized.

"My friends, our job is to make sure this day comes, not in the distant future, but tomorrow. The world of tomorrow will be bright and joyous. My friends, one of my forefathers fought for the freedom of the people in France during the student rebellion of 1832. He died on that day, leaving behind a wife and child, but he did not die in vain. He was a martyr for the poor, downtrodden people who resided in the slums of France, and later on in the nineteenth century, his son fought in another rebellion, this one which succeeded. Our revolution will succeed, my friends, because we will have the world on our side. We will not stand alone in the fight for the new world. We will have help! And this is not a war that will be fought with guns and swords, no, this is a war of words and ideals, and our barricades are not physical, but rather barricades of the mind. Our ideals will be our barrier, and they are too strong for any man to break! We need to make an example, friends, show that we are not to be trifled with, simply because we are students. We need to show the government that they must change, for the world around them is changing, and if they do not keep up, I fear that one day America will fall to the fate of so many other great countries, fall into civil wars and uprisings, leave children orphaned and the good citizens afraid to exit their homes. I do not wish for this to happen. I do not want to rebel against our government fully. I do not want to kill men for this cause. I do not want there to be casualties, or at least not casualties in our men. No," he paused again and looked at the camera fully, the passion sparking in his eyes. "I do not want men to die."

"I do wish that the only casualties of this fight would be the casualties of outdated laws and their adjacent ways of thinking, but if it comes to it, I will stand up for our cause using weapons other than my mind. If I must, I will fight using guns and swords. But with your help, and the help of all of the American people, it will not come to that. We stand on a threshold, my friends, and those who take the hands of those around them, regardless of race or gender, shall enter a new world. And even if you die in this fight – even if _I _die in this fight, I know I am dying for a just cause, and any who die for this shall enter a tomb all flooded with the dawn."

He quieted then, his mouth still forming words, and the crowd was dead silent for a moment, as if they were holding their breath to hear more, when suddenly they burst into thunderous applause, screaming and yelling praises at him. A smile quirked at his lips as he muttered a "Thank you" into the microphone before stepping from the podium and gesturing for Joan to take his place. She stepped up and allowed the applause to die down, smiling.

"Once again," she began, "my dear friend Enjolras practically creates a religion with his speeches. He deserves all of the praise you have given him, and much more. So, if I can ask this of you, let us give Enjolras another round of applause for being such an inspiration!"

She applauded him and the crowd followed, causing him to smile and incline his head slightly in thanks. When the applause died down again, she began.

"I am going to open with a story, my friends. A story that happened to me not that long ago. I am from Missouri, in the South. Just around a century ago, my home state was filled with slave owners, and, even today, inequality runs rampant. These so-called 'Separate, but equal' laws that our government has set up are a sham that many southerners use as an excuse to treat anybody different like dirt. And my brother is one of those southerners. Now, for three years I have been a supporter of civil rights, and have helped Enjolras countless times. I never told my brother, because he did not need to know, and I knew how he would react to me supporting equality."

Joan took a breath, pausing, and continued.

"A few weeks ago, he came to request I return to Missouri for the summer. I declined, and then, that night, he revealed that he knew about our group, _Les Amis de l'ABC_. For those of you who do not speak French, that translates to The Friends of the ABC. It is a bit of a pun, due to the French _ABC _sounding quite a bit like the French word _Abaissed, _which means those who are treated badly. My brother discovered that I was a part of this, and reacted badly. He insisted that our goal was a bad thing, and demanded that I return with him to Missouri instantly, because he would not have me dealing with those who supported the rights of people of color or people of color themselves. When I fought him on this, he beat me."

There was a collective gasp from the audience, and she saw a few jaws in the front row tighten slightly.

"Not only did he beat me badly enough to give me a concussion and a black eye, he also stopped paying for my education and my housing. Lucky for me, my parents left me quite a bit of money before their death. And beyond all of that, one of his responses when I defended my support of racial equality by using women's rights as an example was that women shouldn't have rights after all."

Murmurs of outrage began to sweep through the crowd, and she grinned slightly.

"He seems to think that people of color are no better than animals, while I know a great woman who is not only extremely kind and a landlady, but also is a woman of color. And she took in the younger brother of one of my great friends. The young boy was living on the street, and she has taken it upon herself to help to raise him. If there is one person I am fighting for, it would be this woman. She knows who she is."

Joan paused again.

"So, my friends, I must ask you this: Do you support the man who beats his sister and says that women should not have rights, or do you support the honest woman who makes a living for herself and raises children that are not her own? There are many good things about the south – can anyone deny that dishes like fried chicken and chicken and dumplings are delicious? – but it can be a backwards and scary place. Yes, we need to change the laws of the land. But it is not just that – we have to educate our children, and the children of all people, to treat everyone equally. We need to spread the ideals of our cause, spread our wishes for everyone to be _truly_ equal, not this crooked view of equality that the government has given us. This system is not equal. People of color are given the short end of everything – their schoolbooks are old and tattered, their facilities are not as well maintained - the government needs to change this. We need to stop with this fear of those who are different, and to do that, we must change the minds of the people. And if we can do that, we can do anything. If we do that, we can change the world."

She smiled and bowed her head, stepping back to indicate that she was done. Thunderous applause reached her ears, and she saw Enjolras beaming at her.

"Wonderful," he said to her, "That was wonderful."

"You were better," she whispered, "I really liked that whole 'tomb flooded with the dawn' thing."

"That was your idea," he laughed, "remember?"

"Oh yeah," she remembered, "It was, wasn't it? Anyway, you were better."

As they walked offstage, Combeferre approached them.

"The news crews are here, and they want to interview you."

"I don't think that would be smart," Enjolras said, "What about you, Joan?"

"I don't think so either," Joan muttered, "Thoughts, 'Ferre?"

"Not right now," he said, "in a while, maybe. When we have more of the public on our side."

"Joan! Joan! Enjolras!"

Joan spun around to face Jehan, who was running towards them with a brilliant smile on his face, "You'll never guess who's here!"

"Who?" Joan and Enjolras asked at the same time, when she heard the unmistakeable sound of Gavroche talking somebody's ear off. All she caught was a "Now, Mr. King…" from the young boy before Enjolras turned and his eyes visibly widened. She spun around, not sure what to expect, but she had to suppress a squeal as she saw just who was being pulled along by Éponine and Gavroche.

"Is that…" she heard Combeferre whisper, and she nodded, throat suddenly dry.

"Hello," the surprise attendee said, "I'm Martin Luther King, Jr."

**Gasp! Joan meets her favorite celebrity, at last! Once again, I do not own Les Mis, nor Martin Luther King, jr. I _do _own Joan and Miggie, and the speeches that Joan and Enjolras give.**

**Please R&R!**


End file.
